She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. She sat perfectly still, however. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. Canton at night is as much China as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu. Gay. I was in the front row, and I fancied she smiled at me. But let that verse tell my secret. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. I didn’t believe him and I said so. “Very well,” he said.
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